‘Thing is, Jake, I was on the phone to Em earlier, a couple of hours back. She mentioned Nick was in the shower.’
She left it hanging. Felt him shift slightly, uncomfortable with what she’d laid out there. She lifted her cheek from his shoulder, looking up at him in the half-light, waiting for an answer, getting none. She felt him take another deep breath. Which way would he go? Share or stonewall?
‘It’s not what you think, Evie,’ he said finally.
She pushed up and away, propped up on an elbow, any pretence of sleep gone. ‘And what do you think I think?’
‘I’m not …’ he sighed. ‘I haven’t been, you know, up to no good.’
She reached over, snapped her bedside light on. Looked at him, searched his face for any hint of deceit, but all she saw was worry. A trio of crinkles above his nose where he frowned, his eyes searching hers for a sign she believed him.
She breathed out an exasperated sigh. ‘Then what are you up to?’
Watching him chew on his bottom lip, she found herself mirroring the gesture. He sat up now, scooting his back up the headboard, running both hands through his hair. Any other time there’d be a wisecrack from one of them about him auditioning for a shampoo advert or something equally as silly, but not tonight, not now.
‘Pittman’s about as much use as an ashtray on a motorbike,’ he said eventually, a pleading edge to his voice.
‘Jake!’ she said, louder than she’d intended, but knowing now that best case he was meddling, worst case flirting with professional suicide. ‘Milburn will crucify you if he finds out. What were you thinking?’
‘What was I thinking?’ he said, a little louder now. ‘I was thinking he couldn’t find his own arse with both hands and a map.’
‘And you steaming in is a recipe for success, is it?’
‘Tyler knows who did this, Evie. He’s protecting them.’
‘You don’t honestly expect him to give up his own people just because you ask nicely, do you? You can’t make him do anything he doesn’t want to do.’
‘Not first time of asking, no, but everyone’s got a breaking point.’
‘Will you listen to yourself?’ she said, sitting upright, sheet wrapped around and tucked under her arms. ‘Breaking point? You’re going to break him now? And how are you going to do that on your own, without any help, on a case you shouldn’t be within a hundred miles of?’
‘This is why I didn’t tell you,’ he said, reaching over to take her hand. ‘I didn’t want you to worry.’
‘Worry?’ she said with a derisive laugh. ‘Why would I worry? You’re taking time off from chasing some homicidal bloody maniacs to go and rattle the cage of a man with a reputation for swinging a hammer round like he’s Thor.’
Jake looked confused. ‘Eh? You’ve lost me.’
‘Oh, you didn’t know about that?’ she said, in full flow now, taking the tiniest bit of pleasure from putting him in his place. ‘Where do you think the Triple H name comes from?’
He shrugged, bit of a pout not liking her having the upper hand.
‘You haven’t even read up on him properly, have you?’
‘Not yet, but—’
‘But you can’t in case Milburn finds out. Triple H. H, H, H.’ She popped a finger up for each one, counting them off again as she explained. ‘Hard. Hitting. Hammers. That’s what he made his name with before he formed his own gang. Used to walk around with one hanging off a belt loop, like a bloody DIY-style gunslinger.’
‘You sure he’s not just a West Ham fan,’ Porter said weakly.
‘Jake!’ she snapped, saw him blink and flinch at the sharp tone. She pushed up and out of bed, turning back to face him, arms folded across her chest. ‘This isn’t a bloody joke. You could lose your job if Milburn finds out, or a damn sight worse if you get on the wrong side of Jackson Tyler.’
She paused, studying his face, seeing something there she didn’t like. Look of a kid standing next to a smashed lamp.
‘What did you do?’
‘Nothing really, I just …’
‘What did you do, Jake?’
‘I went to see him, OK? I went to see Tyler.’
‘And …?’
‘And he wasn’t exactly helpful. He wouldn’t say if he knew anything, never mind give me a name.’
‘And you expected anything different?’
‘I just thought—’
‘You didn’t think though, Jake, did you? I know this must be hard, and I can’t begin to imagine where your head must be at right now, but diving in head first isn’t going to fix this. You kicking off with Jackson bloody Tyler won’t help arrest anyone. You’re not avenging Holly this way. You’ll end up joining her at this rate. Maybe that’s what you want.’
Even as the last five words left her mouth, she knew she’d gone too far. Saw the hurt etched on his face, frown ploughing lines across his forehead.
‘Jake,’ she started, ‘I didn’t mean that. I’m sorry, I—’
‘That’s what you think?’ he said, voice low and flat.
‘No, I’m just worried about you, that’s all.’
‘I can take care of myself, Evie.’
‘Easier said than done when you’re doing this by yourself,’ she said. ‘Does Nick know?’
He stared a moment, before shaking his head.
She couldn’t decide if that was a good thing or not. Styles would have his back no matter what. That was just the kind of bond they had. Whether it was fair on Emma and Hannah to let Nick get mixed up in this was another matter.
‘You have to stop, Jake. Let Pittman do his job. How would you feel if somebody was going behind your back, trying to undermine your work?’
‘Difference is I know what I’m doing.’
‘And so does he, Jake. He’s not a bad copper.’
‘But he’s not a great one either, and this case can’t be done half-arsed.’
He lapsed into silence, and she sat there wishing she knew the words to get through to him. He was usually all about the logic, but he was way too close, blind to seeing how that might lead to some bad decisions. Jackson Tyler didn’t sound like a wait-for-you-to-throw-the-first-punch kind of guy.
‘Why do I get the feeling you’re still not telling me everything?’ she asked, narrowing her eyes.
He looked for a second like he was weighing something up. ‘You’ll probably hear about it tomorrow anyway, but there was one more thing.’
He told her about spotting Tyler’s men, following them from the hospital, calling in their little delivery service. His story ended with their arrest, but she couldn’t escape the feeling this had been a redacted version.
‘You can’t tell anyone it was me that called it in though,’ he said. ‘Too many questions.’
‘You better hope for your sake they don’t try and track down the mystery caller,’ she said. ‘They ask for any CCTV footage from along that route, are they going to see your car lurking in the background?’
‘I was careful,’ he said, shaking his head, looking almost hurt that she thought he’d make such a schoolboy error. ‘It’d be easier to work my angles if I had somebody to check up on a few bits for me,’ he said, giving her a sideways glance.
‘Oh no, no, don’t you drag me down with you.’
‘Thanks for the vote of confidence.’
‘This isn’t about whether you’re a good copper, or whether you can stick up for yourself, Jake. We’ll get whoever did this, but it has to be done right.’
‘It’d just be some background on Tyler,’ he said, ‘maybe a few of his guys, information on his operation. Anyone asks, you could just say you were looking into a tip about his drug business.’
‘No,’ she said, feeling her already paper-thin patience vibrate at breaking point.
Jake sat, sulking for a second like a huffy teenager. ‘I thought if anyone would understand, it’d be you,’ he said.
‘I get why you feel like this, but I also know it’s not the way to fix it.�
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‘You keep on talking about fixing things. How do I fix a dead wife, hmm? Tell me that?’
That stunned her into silence. Kind of proved her fears that he wasn’t as healed as he made out. That there was still something, a part of him deep down that had a hairline fracture running through. Invisible, but still there. He jumped up off the bed, paced over to the window, kept his back to her as he spoke.
‘I have to do this, Evie. I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t try.’ He turned now, fixing her with earnest eyes. ‘Are you with me, or not?’
It took a lot for a man like Jake to ask for help. She wanted to, more than anything. But what if all she did was help put him in harm’s way? Could she live with that? Would she punish herself if anything happened to him, the way he had with Holly?
‘Jake.’ Her throat felt like it was closing, choked with mixed emotions, letting down the man she loved, not that she’d told him that part yet, or risking both of their jobs, not to mention safety. ‘I can’t’ she said finally, words coming out quiet, timid almost. ‘I just can’t.’
She saw his face run from disappointment to frustration to hurt. He glanced towards the window, then back at her, looking like a lost child.
‘At least I know where I stand then,’ he said, bending to pick up his clothes, carrying them out the door, footsteps fading downstairs. She heard the front door close behind him and his car start up. She wanted to run after him, tell him to come back, rewind to before the conversation started, but she stayed where she was, until the soft purr of the engine faded.
She sunk back into the dent on her side of the bed, a hollow, scooped-out feeling in the pit of her stomach. First proper fight they’d had. Just a spat, or a crack that would only get wider?
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
It was still dark when Porter slipped out of bed, head fuzzy from a flurry of blurred dreams. To call it a bad night’s sleep would suggest there’d been a full night of it. But it couldn’t have been more than four hours by the time he’d drifted off, if that. No time to stick the coffee machine on thanks to an early start arranged over text with Styles. Instead, he heaped two spoons of instant into a travel mug, flashes of last night’s argument scrolling through his mind.
He felt pretty shitty for storming off home now the dust had settled. He knew she was right, that he should stay clear of Jackson Tyler, Henry Kamau and anything to do with Holly’s case. At the same time, he couldn’t help himself. The case had its own gravitational pull, dragging him along with it, into it.
Last night’s encounter with Tyler and his men had shaken him, but not so much so that he was ready to down tools just yet. More than one way to skin a cat so to speak. If he could bring some heat Tyler’s way, to the point where he gave up whoever it was, it didn’t have to be direct to Porter. That’s what had put him in harm’s way last night. Ego. The need to be up close and personal when Tyler cracked. The gang leader knew what they wanted. The right kind of pressure could have his toes curling over the edge of a cliff, ready to talk, but that could just as easily be to Pittman. If it came down to it, Porter could even tolerate the inevitable crowing Pittman would do about how he’d landed a big win. Rather sit on the bench of a winning team than a starting line-up for the losers. Not his usual philosophy, but it would do here.
Quick check of his phone on the way out the door. One text from Evie, timed around half an hour after he’d stormed off.
I’m sorry. This isn’t easy for me either. Free tonight to talk it through over a takeaway? x
He started up the car, went to pull away, but thought better of it and fired back an answer.
I’m sorry too. Sounds perfect. Call you later to sort a time x
As much as he would have valued her help, he understood why she couldn’t. That’s why he hadn’t asked her in the first place, same reason he hadn’t asked Styles. He didn’t want to compromise those he cared about, so by extension, he had no right to bear a grudge if they did the right thing. Easier to say now, not so much in the heat of the moment.
By the time he reached the station to pick Styles up, the combination of caffeine and the blast of fresh air through his window had perked him right up. One thing he hadn’t decided yet was whether or not to share his Tyler run-in with Styles, now that Evie knew. Probably should. Evie had gotten closer with the Styleses, Emma in particular in recent months. Wasn’t a huge leap to imagine her worry might make her reach out for help in persuading him to step back.
‘Morning, boss,’ said Styles, sliding into the passenger side, legs long enough they could have been stolen from a giraffe, folding up, knees pressed against the dash.
‘You got the address for Kirk?’ Porter asked, punching the postcode into the satnav as Styles rattled it off. Elliott Kirk had evaded any attempt at contact so far. Gus Tessier and Dee Williams had turned up both at the school he worked at and his home address yesterday, but no joy. The headmaster at St Aiden’s said he’d taken a few personal days, trying to come to terms with Henderson’s death. If everything went according to plan, they’d catch him before he had a chance to leave the house. Dee and Gus would be picking up McTeague to bring him in for questioning to time it with Porter getting back to the station. He’d not been at work the previous day when Nick and Kaja paid a visit to the pub, but his boss had assured them he was due in for a shift today.
‘Look, mate,’ Porter started as they zigzagged through the early morning commuters heading east on the A13. ‘Something I should probably tell you, but before I do, you know nothing, right?’ Porter glanced way from the road, one eyebrow arched.
‘I know less than Jon Snow,’ said Styles.
‘Who the hell is that?’ said Porter.
‘Jon Snow? Seriously?’
‘Have I arrested him?’
‘We playing twenty questions?’
‘Look, I’m trying to be serious here,’ said Porter, none the wiser, wishing Styles would stop dancing around it.
‘Oh, you know how much I love explaining my jokes,’ said Styles. ‘Really adds a whole other layer of humour to them. Fine, it’s a Game of Thrones reference. You really haven’t even heard of him? That’s the catchphrase – “You know nothing, Jon Snow”,’ said Styles, voice going up an octave.
‘Was that supposed to be a woman saying that?’
‘Like you could do a better impression. You don’t even know who I’m talking about. Anyway, you were saying?’
Porter gave the slightest of headshakes and started filling Styles in on his extra-curricular activities, even including the second visit to Tyler and the near miss with his two thugs.
‘Jesus, boss, you can’t go after him on your own.’
‘No,’ said Porter, stern like a teacher putting a naughty kid in their place. ‘You’re not helping. Emma would have me hanged, drawn and quartered, and if she didn’t, Evie would.’
‘Well then, doesn’t that tell you something about how bad an idea it is?’
‘What would you do, if it was Emma?’
‘Whatever it took,’ said Styles, no hesitation.
‘And there you have it.’
A few seconds of silence, save for fingers drumming on the wheel.
‘Let me at least do some digging on Tyler for you, maybe help bounce a few ideas around with you,’ said Styles eventually.
Porter knew his DS well enough to know that if he didn’t give him something, Styles would start using his own initiative to try and help in some other way. He couldn’t have that. Better to steer him in a direction that had as little risk as possible.
‘One condition,’ he said. ‘Information only. You go nowhere near Tyler.’
‘Promise,’ said Styles.
‘I need to know more about his business,’ Porter began a download of his idea, such as it was. ‘There has to be a sweet spot somewhere, something he’s into, that if he loses that, it cripples him, or at least makes life a damn sight harder than it needs to be. Something big enough to drive him into Pittman.’
‘I’ll see what we’ve got already, maybe put a few feelers out. I can always say we got an anonymous tip that some Triple H members are linked to the Henderson case if anyone asks. Might not fool Milburn if he caught wind but couldn’t prove otherwise.’
‘Nick, don’t get yourself on his shitlist for me, you hear? If he gets you in a corner, you tell him I made you do it.’
‘Snitches get stiches,’ said Styles in a poor man’s Ray Winstone impression, pulling a thumb across his throat, executioner-style. ‘I ain’t a grass, copper.’
‘See what you can get, but don’t push it.’
They tossed ideas around the rest of the journey, pulling up outside Elliott Kirk’s house a little after seven.
‘You think he’s been avoiding us then?’ Styles asked as they got out.
‘Your guess is as good as mine. I’d have said McTeague was on the level until he popped up on camera, so who knows.’
Kirk peered out through a six-inch gap in the door, chain strung at face height, just the right level to act as a metal moustache on an otherwise youthful face. Sandy hair and freckles. Looked like he and Ross Henderson could be related, cut from the same cloth.
‘Mr Kirk?’ Porter asked.
Kirk’s eyes flitted between them, suspicious, no move to open the door any further.
‘DI Porter and DS Styles, sir. We’re with the Met. We need to speak to you about Ross Henderson.’
The distrust dropped away with an embarrassed half-smile. Kirk popped the chain off and stepped back, pulling the door open.
‘Sorry, it’s just that I had reporters round here yesterday. Bastards were camped outside like I was a bloody A-list celebrity. I had to slip out the back just to go to the shops.’
He led them through a narrow corridor, into a poky kitchen. Not a house for the claustrophobic.
‘Can I get you a cuppa?’
‘All good, thanks,’ said Porter, answering for them both. They sat on opposite sides of a table stained with splodges of varying colours. Kirk clearly clocked Porter’s glance, launching into an unnecessary explanation.
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